


Ferocity

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: "We are both getting out of here alive. I will not leave you. Understand?" (08/24/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This is the first time I have ever even attempted to write anything remotely slashy. So please bear with me, it may be awfully unoriginal, but I'm giving it a shot. Started before the issuance of the Hot 'n Cold challenge, but I suppose this counts. First in a three-part series.  
  
To kyrdwyn, because it's all her fault I'm here. Seriously, thanks for the encouragement you've given and the patience you've shown.  


* * *

There existed within Malcolm Reed a core of ferocity. It didn't show itself very often. But when it did, it was explosive. He hated it when it raged inside, yet there was no place for it to go. He could pace, and did just that frequently, until he knew the dimensions of his prison perfectly. It also helped keep him warm.

Wherever he was, it was freezing. These aliens apparently required a cold climate to survive, but either didn't know or care that not all species did. The cell was warmer than the rest of the ship, but Malcolm could still see his breath. He watched the thin exhaled clouds as he journeyed up and down the room.

He glanced at the pieces of metallic-looking fabric that were piled in a corner. They were being used as blankets, no matter what their original purpose had been. Malcolm did not avail himself of their comparatively warmer depths. At least, not yet. If his internal clock was still functioning properly, it was almost time. He stared at the opposite wall through the dim lighting, watching and waiting.

Part of the wall shifted aside, flooding the room with dazzling light and biting cold. It was hard for Malcolm to get good looks at his captors, for they never stayed long enough for his eyes to readjust. But at this point, he cared less about them than he did about the man they returned.

As the door slid shut, Malcolm leapt forward, hands out in front of him in search of his cellmate. But when his fingers encountered a cold, unmoving form sprawled across the floor, he stilled. Holding his breath, he ran his hands up to the neck. Before he could take a pulse, he heard a moan and the body shifted. Malcolm let out an explosive sigh of relief. Trip Tucker was still alive.

The last three times had been especially bad. The first few separations, Trip had gone kicking and yelling, returning the same way. He had then proceeded to rail against the aliens and everything associated with them.

* * *

"I'm tellin' you, Malcolm, I can't make heads or tails of that damn thing and they're not helpin'!" Malcolm watched as an agitated Trip stalked up and down the cell's length, his waving arms punctuating his statements.

"I could probably puzzle it out if they'd just stop pokin' me and yellin' at me in that chatter language of theirs. I know they understand me, but I don't understand them." Trip stopped and put his hands on his hips as he stared at the ceiling. "I wish Hoshi were here to figure it out."

Malcolm stirred from his place against the wall. "You might as well wish for Enterprise to find us and get us out of here."

Trip gave a half-nod in his direction. "I'm still holdin' out on that one."

Malcolm smiled a crooked half-smile. "Ever the optimist."

Trip nodded once. "Damn straight."

* * *

But over the ensuing days, Trip had grown quieter and weaker to the point where it was an effort for him to string a sentence together. And now...Malcolm whispered, "Come on Trip, lean on me, let's go..." He gently lifted the engineer into a sitting position and slid underneath an arm. "Come on now." Bracing his feet and pushing hard, Malcolm levered the both of them up to a standing position. He turned them toward the pile of blankets in the far corner. Trip mumbled as he tried to help himself forward, but he ended up leaning mostly on Malcolm. Malcolm's eyes had recovered enough to see Trip's brow knotted in concentration and effort. Finally, he settled the other man down onto the material against the wall.

Trip's head rocked back as Malcolm turned his attention to his companion's hands, which were now curled against his chest. He tugged on them, carefully unfolding the fingers and examining them. After several moments of squinting, Malcolm determined that there were no signs of frostbite. Yet. He began to rub the long, work-roughened fingers briskly as Trip mumbled something that sounded like, "Stop that." Malcolm ignored him and kept working on the hands until they no longer felt like ten icicles.

As Malcolm tucked the blankets around Trip, he realized that slitted blue eyes were watching him. "'m sorry." Malcolm continued working as he replied, "For what?"

"D'nt want ya. Wanted me ta fix engin'. Got ya inta this. 'm sorry."

Malcolm shook out the largest of the blankets as he eyed Trip. "Now don't you go all maudlin on me. This was not your fault. We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time." He slid forward to sit next to Trip, pulling the last blanket over them both.

Trip let out a long sigh. "'m tired."

"I know, just go to sleep now." Malcolm was secretly terrified that every time Trip fell asleep he wouldn't wake up, but he knew it was an impossible task to keep him awake when the body was demanding sleep to survive. Trip nodded slowly, and Malcolm held out an arm.

As had been the case twice before, Trip curled up against Malcolm, his head on the other man's shoulder. He fell asleep almost immediately, his ice-cold nose pressed against Malcolm's warmer neck. Malcolm rested his cheek on the top of Trip's head and gently rubbed the arm his hand rested on, feeling the coolness of the skin even through the tattered uniform fabric. Listening to the calm, even breaths of sleep, Malcolm turned his face into Trip's hair and reluctantly turned his thoughts to other matters.

It was becoming obvious that Trip was not going to last much longer. Whatever was happening to him outside of this room, it was killing him. And Malcolm did not care to think of what would happen if—or when, he painfully admitted to himself—Trip died. He knew he was expendable; that had been proven the last time they had come for Trip.

* * *

They had both been soundly asleep when they came. A blast of cold was Malcolm's only warning before Trip's cry rang out. He couldn't see, but he could feel Trip being violently pulled from his arms. Malcolm blindly swung with his free arm, the other still securely clinging to Trip. "Leave him alone, you bastards!" He felt his fist connect with something hard and cold that sent an icy chill coursing down his arm. He involuntarily yelped as the shock loosened his grip. The next thing he felt was Trip slipping from his grasp.

Trip yelled again, half in pain, half in anger as Malcolm lunged with both hands. "Dammit, no!" His vision had cleared enough to see a familiar shape weakly struggling as it receded. "No!" Malcolm howled again as he struck out.

Then the butt of a weapon descended, and the light went away.

* * *

Malcolm twitched his jaw slightly, feeling the bruise that stretched from his cheekbone to his earlobe. He could also feel the odd, unfamiliar weight of his beard. Maybe it wasn't really a beard, but it was far too long for mere stubble. He had decided that neither one of them was well-suited for whiskers. His own were rather scrawny, and Trip's more closely resembled mold than hair growing on his face.

Malcolm shook the light thought aside as he began to formulate a plan. Uncertainty and his fear for Trip had restrained him to this point, but it was clear that if they were to both survive, immediate action was necessary. He tightened his arms around Trip as the sleeping man shifted uneasily. If Malcolm were to die, he would die protecting Trip.

After all, Malcolm Reed was ferocious when defending those he loved.

* * *

The clock inside Malcolm's head ticked away the minutes as he watched the sliding wall hatch. He kept himself from pulling at the cloth wrapped around his eyes, even though it itched miserably. It had taken some doing to tear one of the blankets into strips, but it worked very well as an eye shield. He hoped it would take enough of the initial glare off to do what needed to be done.

Trip kept fidgeting with his, however, and Malcolm had been telling himself that swatting at his hands would be too juvenile. He finally gave up and gently smacked a hand that was worrying at a knot. "Stop that before you unravel it."

"Sorry," Trip pulled his hand away. Malcolm didn't know what resources Trip was running on at this point; as it was he was using the wall to stay on his feet. He had responded to Malcolm's insistent wakeup call and explanation with a simple "Wondered when ya'd come up with somethin'." He had seemed more alert and aware, and more like himself for the first time in a while. Perhaps the thought of escape was giving him the strength he needed. All Malcolm could feel was relief; he knew he couldn't pull this off for the both of them, and he refused to even consider leaving Trip behind.

"Malcolm." The sound of his name caused Malcolm to turn his head back around. He couldn't see Trip clearly, or make out the expression on his face, but the tone of voice was flat and serious. "If ya need to, go on without me."

Something snapped inside Malcolm, and he threaded a hand around to the back of Trip's neck. He leaned forward until their foreheads were almost touching. "Do we really have to go through this again? We are both getting out of here alive. I will not leave you. Understand?" Maybe Trip was too tired to argue the point, and Malcolm felt him nod. "If, however, if you have a chance to go on without me..."

Suddenly, a hand coiled around the back of Malcolm's neck in a matching grip. "And I'm not gonna leave you. Understand?"

Malcolm could feel himself smiling in spite of himself. "Understood." For the briefest of moments, he wanted to pull both of their veils aside...

The whine of the door cut off any further thought, and Malcolm whirled from Trip's touch and lashed out at the form looming in the square of light. As he had hoped, the coverings allowed sufficient vision. Forming both hands into a double fist, he drove down on what looked to be the point where a neck met a shoulder. The shape grunted and dropped, reveling another directly behind.

Without pausing, Malcolm launched himself forward, throwing his full weight behind his shoulder thrust. He connected with the creature, earning a bone-chilling jolt that shot through his body. He did hear the solid crack and see the head smack against the wall, sending the thing down to the floor. But the third was on top of Malcolm before he could react, and he felt that horrible cold twisting into him...

A loud noise and flash of light, and the weight and cold were suddenly gone. Pulling himself away as quickly as possible, Malcolm looked up to see Trip leaning heavily against the hatch frame, holding one of the jagged-looking weapons the aliens carried. A quick look up and down the corridor revealed no more aliens in the vicinity, but that was going to change quickly.

As Malcolm relieved the other two of their weapons, holding one while slinging the other across his back, he called to Trip, "Trip, you're going to have to lead. You've been in the ship proper. Can you find a communications station?"

In the brighter light of the hall, he could see Trip's sly grin. "Even better. I know where they're keepin' our stuff. C'mon." Trip held out his free hand, which Malcolm quickly took. Moving as fast as Trip could, the two made their way down the oddly ridged corridor.

* * *

"See? Told ya." Trip was shaking with fatigue, but there was no mistaking the triumph in his voice as he pointed to the two communicators and two phase pistols lying on a glowing green table. Not letting go of Trip's hand, Malcolm placed his alien rifle on the table and scooped up a communicator. It let out a reassuring chirp as he flipped it open. "Reed to Enterprise."

If there was a response, Malcolm didn't hear it. A loud whine sounded as a bolt of green light sailed by his head. Apparently their escape had been noted. Several more bolts filled the air as Malcolm dropped to the floor and slid behind the table, pulling Trip with him. The communicator, still open, spun away from Malcolm's hand. He heard Trip's hiss of pain as he hit the floor, and Malcolm leaned out to return fire, giving Trip time to pull himself under cover and begin shooting his own weapon. It quickly became apparent that there wasn't enough room for the both of them.

He didn't even stop to think. Malcolm lunged up and away, firing all the while, faintly aware of Trip yelling his name. He raked the doorway with fire, noting the large number of aliens crowding through it. Crashing into a cabinet of some kind, he shoved it as hard as he could. It toppled over to one side, and Malcolm made to dive behind it.

Yet he stopped for a split second to look back, realizing the other man was no longer calling to him or firing. He fully expected to see Trip dead or dying, and his soul keened at the thought. But instead, he saw the last of a blue glow fading away, and Malcolm recognized it instantly as the sparkle of a transporter.

He barely had time to realize what that meant before a bolt connected.


End file.
